A New Friend
by Ghostytea
Summary: SPOILERS!   Post Reichenbach  John Watson is recovering from the death of his best friend the year before, and facing financial troubles. He meets a nice man in a pub on a rainy Tuesday night.
1. Chapter 1

The date was May 4th. John Watson walked down the busy London street with a slight spring in his step. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone, to send Peter a text.

_"On my way back to the flat. Need anything?"_

Almost instantly the reply came.

"_No. Thanks anyway, mate. There's a man here, says he needs to see you. You should hurry. -PM"_

John stopped for a moment and looked quizzically at the text. He decided that it wasn't a big deal, and continued to walk. He turned onto Baker street and hurried to the flat, curiosity overtaking him. John Watson jogged up the stairs and opened the door to 221b.

* * *

><p>Two years prior to this date, John Watson met a man named Peter Morgan in a pub on a Tuesday night. John sat on a stool, brooding over his drink.<p>

"Bach?"

John looked around the bar and saw that he wasn't alone. There was one other person there. A tall rugged man sitting a few seats over.

"Excuse me?" said John.

"Bach," repeated the man, "you were humming..."

John looked at the man with cocked his head to the side and chuckled to himself.

"I guess I was. Thanks? For uh…noticing, I suppose."

John took a long drink and leaned forward.

"My name's Peter, by the way. Peter Morgan." Peter moved to shake John's hand. John took his hand and shook it firmly.

"John Watson. Pleased to meet you."

Peter looked at John with disbelief and laughed to himself.

"John Watson…THE John Watson? It's a pleasure! I was a huge fan of your blog, before," Peter paused, "w- well, you know. Before…"

John smiled. He had had this happen to him countless times in the past. He knew how to handle it without breaking down.

"Yeah, it's fine. Thanks." John tried to relieve the tension, "So, you're a fan of Bach?"

Peter sat next to John and smiled, "No, not really. My old flat mate was, though. He was absolutely mental about classical music, played it all the time. Drove me up the wall."

"Ah, mine did as well. I didn't think it was too bad." John chuckled. He hadn't talked about Sherlock in such a casual way in a while.

"You know, you are a fortunate man for knowing Sherlock Holmes , and just between you and I," Peter leaned in towards John, "I don't think he was a fake. If you don't mind me saying, I think that Sherlock Holmes was one of the most brilliant men that ever lived."

John smiled, and felt a wave of relief and sadness wash over him. Peter leaned back and almost fell off of his chair. John could tell that he was a bit drunk but carried on chatting with him for hours. Finally, the bartender told them that they needed to leave. Peter stood up and wavered a bit. John moved to steady him, and helped him to a cab.

"Here's my number, mate. Gimme a text, or a call, or whatever, you know, if you ever want to chat or whatever you need, really, mate." Peter slurred. He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his jacket pocket and scribbled his number down. John accepted it and thanked Peter, wishing him a good night. When the cab finally drove away, John turned and walked back to 221b Baker street. He walked up the stairs, into the flat and flipped the light switch. He was still enveloped in darkness. He did this a few more times and sighed. He felt his way through the flat until he found the couch, and fell onto it.  
><em><br>Damn electricity bill_, he thought to himself, _need more money…need a new flat mate_.

John dozed off, with the piece of paper still in his hand.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Alright, there's the first chapter! I will probably post another tomorrow. <strong>_

_**Bye for now! Please review~ xoxo **_


	2. Chapter 2

John and Peter had become fast friends. This was surprising to John because, for the past year, he hadn't been able to connect with people very easily. His therapist said he seemed happier, after he had met Peter. John _was_ happier. 6 months after that meeting in that dim pub on that dim Tuesday, John received a text.

_Lunch?-PM_

John looked down at his phone and smiled a bit.

_Sure. Usual place?_

_Sounds good. -PM_

John walked into the Chinese restaurant and saw Peter sitting at a table. He looked nervous, and was fidgeting a lot. John walked over and sat down across from him.

"Hey, Peter."

"Aye, mate." Peter nodded to John and then looked behind him as if he was expecting him to come with someone else.

"You alright? You seem a bit on edge." John attempted to make eye contact.

"No uh- yeah I'm fine." Peter smiled at John weakly and relaxed a bit. "I have a question…and I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything but, I know you're looking for a flat mate and I'm actually looking for a place to live, and I don't know if you've had any offers but I would pay half and keep up on it," Peter spilled all of this out in one breath, barely pausing between words. John started to grin at Peter and tried to stop him.

"Peter…"

He ignored John and continued,"and I wouldn't be nuisance and I would stay out of your way-"

"Peter! It's fine," John chuckled, "really, it's fine. Yeah, sure. I think that would be good for both of us." John smiled as Peter sighed with relief.

"Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. I can pay forward if you'd like…"

"That won't be necessary. I uh-…I just need a few days to get the room ready for you to move in. Is that alright?" John suddenly felt himself falling apart. He had to go into Sherlock's room. He silently started to panic but kept it concealed.

"Yeah, that sounds fine. Thanks again so much, John. I can't tell you how much this means to me." Peter seemed thrilled. The waiter approached them and asked them if they were ready.

_No. Not at all._ John thought to himself.

John walked up to the closed door that lead into the Sherlock's room. He took a deep breath and slowly reached toward the doorknob. It was cold and sent shivers down his spine. His lungs locked up and he could barely breathe. John turned the knob and pushed the door open. He stood in the doorway, and looked into the room with a miserable look on his face. His eyes scanned the place. There was a pale blue light cast across the room from the window and John could make out bits of dust dancing through the beams. The sharpness of his vision began to fade as tears filled his eyes. John threw his hands to his face, stopping the tears from sliding down. He breathed in sharply and made a small whimpering sound.

"Damn it, Sherlock." John whispered to himself. He wiped his tears away and took on a hardened expression. He walked into the room and stripped the bed sheets, folding them slowly and placing them carefully into a box. He moved on to the posters hanging on the walls. Then to the socks. John laughed to himself, as he disassembled the carefully indexed collection. Then the rest of his dresser, then his closet. The few remaining possessions were already in boxes. John silently thanked Sherlock for being so organized, so he didn't have to go through everything. John decided not to look through those boxes, for his sake. He looked through his bedside table. There were three things in there. The first was Irene Adler's phone. John turned it around in his hands and then set it on his palm. He placed it in his pocket and looked back to the drawer. The second was a small notebook that looked like a diary. John opened it and thumbed through the pages. It was mostly scientific notes. John had recognized it. Whenever Sherlock would write in his blog, he referred to this notebook. John stifled hysteric laughter. Sherlock wrote his blog entries in a notebook before typing them online. Typical. The third and final item was a thin photograph book. It held ten pictures but there were only three. One was of what appeared to be a younger Sherlock on the beach with Mycroft. They were standing next to a sand castle. Sherlock's dark brown hair was ridiculous and curly, flopping around in the breeze. He was smiling and holding onto his brothers hand. The second was a picture of a Sherlock's mom and dad on their wedding day. The woman had Sherlock's eyes and smile. The man looked stern but happy all the same. Sherlock had his father's height and hair. John came to the last picture and choked up. It was a photo of he and Sherlock, cut out of a newspaper. John remembered the night exactly. The Naval Treatment case. Sherlock was wearing his deerstalker, which he hated. John closed the album and pulled it to his chest. He breathed deeply and restrained himself from crying. He stood up and picked up the boxes, carrying them into his room and putting them in the back of his closet. He walked back to Sherlock's room and solemnly closed the door. The thud was sickening. John texted Peter.

_All cleaned up. Text me when you're coming by._


	3. Chapter 3

John sat in his chair reading the paper. It had been 3 months since Peter had moved in and things were going smoothly. The rent was being paid on time and in full, John had restored stability and routine to his life, and he was feeling good. Peter shuffled down the hallway, dragging his feet and rubbing his eyes.

Peter yawned as he croaked out, "John, I'm putting the kettle on. Want a cup?"

John looked up from his paper to see Peter tripping over his long robe and stumbling into the kitchen. Peter was quite a lanky man. His arms hung by his sides and swayed as he walked. But, despite his awkward height, Peter walked with the assurance and poise of a soldier. His steps were sure and strong and, besides his occasional clumsiness in the mornings, he never faltered.

"Uh-…yeah, sure. Good morning, by the way." John looked back to his paper and yawned.

"Morning to you too, sweetheart," Peter mumbled, "Have a good sleep? I slept like a dead man, if you know what I mean."

John stopped reading and cocked his head to the side a bit. _Sweetheart?_he thought to himself. John disregarded the sentiment and continued reading.

"Yes…uh-yes I did. Have you heard about this?" John pointed to the paper, "14 found dead along the Thames. Tragic, really…really tragic. No connection between the victims, though. Seems pretty uh-strange."

Peter scratched the top of his head sleepily and he plugged the kettle in. His hair was that of an army man, except grown out on the top. He was a dirty blonde and most often his mop was flipped to the right side. In the mornings it was a complete mess, scruffy and all over the place. Peter was clean shaven. His eyes were a dark brown and quite large. His nose was a medium size, his mouth was a medium size, his ears…not so medium, but for the most part, pretty normal. Peter's face was very plain but also very handsome.

"Oh…wow yeah, that's horrible. Makes you appreciate the life a bit more, eh?" Peter walked over to the chair opposite Johns and attempted to cross his legs as he sat down but ended up just tangling himself up in his robe.

"I've had my share of," John choked a bit, and quickly regained his composure, "near death experiences. It's sad but, it won't traumatize me or anything."

"Ah…interesting." Peter seemed disinterested in Johns comment. "So! Have any big plans for the day, Johnny boy?"

John stopped reading for a moment again, _Johnny boy? Where in the world…_

"Excuse me?" John asked Peter.

"I said, do you have any plans for the day. Didn't think I was mumbling."

"No, I caught that bit but, "Johnny boy?" where did you pick that up?"

Peter paused and stumbled over his words "Uh- no, yeah it's just a silly nickname. Sorry about that mate. Just a bit uh…delusional in the mornings is all." The kettle beeped and Peter jumped out of the chair rushing through the kitchen towards it.

"Alright then," John mumbled to himself. "Peter? You know I'm not…" John paused and weighed his words in his mind, "You know I'm not_ gay_right?"

Peter spilled a bit of boiling water on his hand as John said this.

"Fuck," Peter swore under his breath, rushing to the sink to run his finger under the cold water.

John continued, "And if you are, that's totally fine I just wanted to let you know that…you know, I'm flattered but I'm not really looking for…that type of a relationship."

Peter felt his face turn bright red. "Oh yeah, mate. No, I uh…no that's fine. I wasn't…I mean I don't want you to think that-"

John cut Peter off, "No it's fine, Peter you don't need to explain anything. It's fine…it's all…you know, fine. Whatever, shakes your…boat, I'm going to stop talking now."

"Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea." Peter stood with his hand running under the cold water and coughed.

The silence was unbearable. Mrs. Hudson came clambering up the stairs, "Hello boys! Oh," Mrs. Hudson noticed Peter, "You're up quite early, you are. I didn't think you were much of a morning person." John nodded towards Mrs. Hudson and Peter looked over his shoulder to acknowledge her. "Neither was John for the longest time. He learned that you have to wake up early to keep up with Sherlock. He was a funny one, he was."

John sighed and put his paper down on the side table. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson now, what is it?"

"Oh, I was just coming up here to ask you if you've been invited to that kind girl Molly's Christmas party. She's sent me an invitation in the post. It's quite well put together all pretty, you know. She's a pretty girl, she is."

"Yeah…oh yeah!" Peter exclaimed, "John! I forgot to tell you. We both got one…well we got_ one_. It had both of our names on it."

"Of course it did," John muttered to himself.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

John had had enough. It was too much, too many people, and the mention of Sherlock. His thoughts swirled around in his head as Peter and Mrs. Hudson chatted away.

"PLEASE!" John lowered his tone, "Please…excuse me." John stood up and walked into his room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Welp. Peter's all flirty with John and John is not having it. <strong>_

_**This chapter's a bit shorter than the previous one but, this needed to happen. **_

_**Anyway, please review! ~ XOXO**_


	4. Chapter 4

Molly Hooper walked into her flat to see Sherlock yelling and perched in front of the television. She tiptoed around him and made her way into the kitchen, setting the groceries down on the counter.

"Could you keep it down out there, please? I don't want any more complaints from the neighbors, Sherlock."

Sherlock picked up the remote and clicked it off. He let his eyes roll back in his head as he closed them. Molly peeked into the sitting room and saw Sherlock stand up. As he did this, he seemed to blanket the room with a darkness that greatly contrasted the warm pinkish glow of Molly's apartment. He wordlessly glided into the kitchen and started unloading the various foodstuffs from their bags and into the cabinets.

"How was your day then?" Molly smiled kindly at Sherlock and began to help him.

"It was dull, boring," Sherlock paused, "_mundane." _He sighed as he opened the fridge to put the milk away. "How was yours?" Sherlock said this with a mockingly interested tone.

Molly giggled, and responded, "It was quite good, actually. I had a quite a few bodies to take care of. Those fourteen people that were found dead? They're just waiting for Sherlock Holmes in the morgue." Molly said in a bright tone. Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and walked back into the sitting room. Molly continued, "You sure you don't want to come 'round and have a peek?"

She had been trying to get Sherlock to come back into the public eye for months now.

"No, Molly. We've gone over this." Sherlock sprawled himself across the couch and grabbed his phone, flicking through the text messages in his inbox. He read over the ones that John had been sending him in the past few months.

_I met this guy, Peter a few nights ago. He seems nice.  
>Wish you could move back in. Need help with the rent.<br>I cleaned out your room because Peter's moving in. I think you would like him.  
><em>  
>Sherlock smiled to himself and mumbled, "Doubt it…"<p>

"What was that?" Molly called from the kitchen.  
><em><br>_Sherlock ignored Molly and kept looking through them. All of a sudden, he got a new one. _From John, of course, _Sherlock thought.__

_Might be going to Molly's Christmas Party. Wish you could be there._

Sherlock squinted and reread the text. "Molly? What's this about a…Christmas Party? Where?"  
>Molly put away the last item and walked into the sitting room. She picked up Sherlock's legs, forcing him to sit upright, giving Molly room to sit next to him. Sherlock glanced over at her and continued,<p>

"Why are you doing this?"

"I just thought it would be nice to have a few mates over for the holidays, that's all. You said you were going to have to travel to…what was it, New Jersey for Christmas? I just assumed-"_  
><em>  
>"Those plans have been cancelled Molly, I told you that weeks ago." Sherlock slumped down and sighed.<p>

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Sherlock. You can hide in your bedroom if you want, and I'll make sure no one goes in there. You've done it plenty of times!"

"That's not the point! I don't want to have people here! John is more perceptive than you give him credit for, he'll notice something is different. I can't have anyone know that I'm alive." Sherlock stormed off into his room slamming the door behind him.

Molly was shocked. Lately, Sherlock had been so cooperative. Well, more cooperative than usual. Living with Sherlock was no easy task. His outbursts, his dark moods, and even his light moods were sometimes unbearable. The nights were the worst, though. Sherlock, would hardly ever sleep, and when he would, he would end up screaming himself awake.

Ever since Sherlock had "died", he had a different look to him. His face was even skinnier and more pale than normal. His hair hung off of his head, lifeless and limp. His once bright piercing eyes, were now vapid and empty. Sherlock Holmes was dead on the inside of him. He carried a black cloud around the flat wherever he went. Sometimes, Molly caught him in a good mood and they played a game of Cluedo or watched a movie, chatting and laughing. But, Sherlock's laugh was hollow and dry, and his good moods didn't last long enough.

Molly gathered up her courage and walked to Sherlock's door. She went to knock on it when, it opened. In the doorframe stood Sherlock with his head hung.

"Go ahead and have your party…I'll figure something out." Sherlock mumbled.

Molly smiled and said softly, "Thanks, Sherlock." He looked up at her and gave her a halfhearted smile. "I would have had the bloody party anyway, you know."

Sherlock smiled back for real this time and chuckled a bit, "I know you would have. I just thought I would give myself the satisfaction of giving you permission."

Molly giggled and playfully pushed Sherlock's stomach and she felt his ribs sticking out. She stopped laughing as Sherlock steadied himself against the doorframe.

"Sherlock, I know it's hard but, you need to eat some more." Molly said in a worried tone.

"Goodnight, Molly." Sherlock mumbled dismissively. He turned and shut the door. Molly could hear the lock click and the dragging of Sherlock's feet as he trudged to his bed.

"Night, Sherlock."


	5. Chapter 5

Peter Morgan stood in front of the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. Peter hated the man who looked back at him. The man in the mirror was considerate and clumsy. Almost loveable. His best friend's name was John Watson. He drank tea and worked at a book store in London. He was a normal man. The man in the mirror's name was Peter Morgan. The man standing in _front_of the mirror, on the other hand, was a hardened soldier. He preferred to be alone, and his work was his life. He was the most revered sniper in the world. The man's name was Sebastian Moran. Sebastian Moran stood in front of the mirror and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Peter?" Sebastian heard John call from the sitting room.

Peter Morgan rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Peter Morgan walked into the living room.

"Hey, John. You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," John chuckled, "I think you'll like Molly, Peter. She's a nice girl, if you know what I mean." John playfully raised his eyebrows at Peter. They both laughed as Peter pushed John out the door.

"Oh, shut up, John." Peter grinned to himself. Sebastian gagged.

Peter and John started walking to Molly's flat. Snow danced through the air and landed on their shoulders and dampened their hair. The air was cold and Peter's throat was slightly raw. Sebastian reached into his back pocket and took out his pack of cigarettes.

"I didn't know you smoked." John said with a tint of skepticism in his voice.

"I don't. Just, a bit nervous is all." Peter's voice shook. Sebastian lit a cigarette and took a drag. John shook it off as they turned onto Molly's street.

* * *

><p>Molly frantically shoved sheets of music and test tubes into kitchen drawers as Sherlock paced around the room.<p>

"Can you PLEASE help me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock reluctantly grabbed his coat off of the rack and threw it on his bed.

"There. Molly, you need to relax, no one is going to know that I'm here," Sherlock grinned to himself, "You're acting like me. Just…calm down a bit."

Molly's shoulders fell and she felt all of her tension leave. Sherlock had that effect on her.

"You're right…no, you're right, we're fine." She flopped down on the couch and took a deep breath. "How do I look?"

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and walked across the room to get a different angle. Molly giggled and stood up.

Sherlock took on an overly posh accent, "You look HORRIBLE Molly, dear. Please, go put something else on."

Molly glanced out of the window and saw Peter and John walking up to her door. She turned around to look at Sherlock, her eyes wide.

"Get! Go go, go in your room right now." She spun Sherlock around and pushed him into his room, slamming the door behind him. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and nodded her head slightly before hearing a knock on the door. She walked over and opened it, a big smile on her face.

"Hey John!" Molly gave him a quick hug, "and you must be Peter." She smiled and shook his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, uh…Molly, yeah?" Peter gave her a bashful grin as he stepped into the sitting room. He glanced around the room and took everything in. It was warm and comfortably cluttered. The light in the room came from the various lamps scattered around the place. Stacks of medical books sat in corners, and open notebooks sat on end tables. Molly smiled at both of them and shrugged,

"So, would you two like something to drink?" she walked into the kitchen.

"Ah, sure. Whatever you have…Peter?" John looked over to Peter who was still looking around, searching the place with his eyes.

Sherlock pulled his ear away from the door. _Peter?,_ he thought to himself, _who is "peter?"_

"Yeah I'm fine with whatever, Molly. Not too picky." Peter smiled warmly and sat down on the couch.

Peter took out his phone to see a new message.

_Hello, Sebby darling. How's the party? Making any new friends? –JM_

Molly came out into the sitting room and handed Peter a glass of wine. He took it from her and let his hand linger on hers, "Thanks, Mols." Sebastian winked as he said this. Molly turned bright red and giggled a bit. Peter grinned and looked down to his phone and replied.

Jim. I'm busy what do you want. –SM

The reply came almost instantly.

_Just making sure you're doing your job. Don't get sidetracked. –JM_

Peter slid his phone back into his pocket. Sebastian ran his fingers through his hair._  
><em>

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><p><em><strong>Okay, so this chapter is probably...yeah this hurt me. xD Peter Morgan is Sebastian Moran.<br>**_

_**I'm grounded from the computer but I can probably upload a chapter a day at school or something. Thanks for reading, please review! xoxo**  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock sat in his room listening to the muffled laughter of his friends. He sat on his bed, fiddling with his Rubik's Cube, fighting the urge to leave his room. He stood up and paced around a bit, as his thoughts whizzed through his head at blinding speeds. Sherlock walked over to the wall and sat down, pressing his ear against it, straining to pick up any exchange. He could pick out each of the voices and follow them from conversation to conversation, person to person. Sherlock stood up and found his phone to text Molly.

I'_m bored. –SH  
><em>  
>Molly sat on the ground next to Peter, sipping a glass of wine.<p>

"So, how's work?" Peter turned to Molly and grinned as he said this.

"Oh, it's so busy. Never bored," Molly giggled, "wish I had a bit of extra help, though."

Molly felt her phone vibrate in her pocket and read Sherlock's text. "Speak of the devil…" She mumbled to herself.

"What was that?" Peter took a drink and smiled at Molly.

"Oh, nothing." Molly looked down to her phone to reply, and Sebastian surreptitiously peeked at Molly's phone as well.

_Sorry, Sherlock. You're going to have to wait. Please be patient._

Sherlock stood up and slammed his fist against his dresser.

"Jesus, what the hell was that?" John looked towards Sherlock's door, standing up.

"Oh, no don't go in there. It's uh, the cat! Yeah, I thought one of you might be allergic so I put him away." Molly stuttered and stumbled through her excuse, "don't go in there. He's bad with people."

Sebastian smirked and stifled a laugh. _This is too easy_, he thought to himself.

Sherlock's hand hovered over the door handle as he thought of what would happen if he turned it.

Molly looked back over to Peter and sighed, "Anyway, what do you do, Peter? John never told me."

"Ah, I work at a book store. You know, selling books, stocking shelves, taking inventory. Not as exciting as looking at dead people I'll admit, but it pays the bills."

"Well that's nice," Molly took a sip of wine, "I like books. I like books a lot." She was starting to slur her words.

"I can tell." Sebastian sneered. "You should come by some time," Peter suggested, "It'd be nice to see you there."

Molly blushed and looked down, "Maybe I will." Sebastian rolled his eyes when Molly couldn't see.

"Maybe we could go for coffee sometime?" Peter asked. Molly smiled and felt her phone vibrate again.

"Jesus," Molly sighed to herself and looked back down at her phone.

_Getting a bit friendly, are we? -SH_

Molly shoved her phone back into her pocket and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Uhm, yeah that sounds nice."

Peter smirked and muttered, "So, it's a date then?"

"I guess it is." Molly tried to stay calm but ended up beaming and acting like a child who had just been given a new toy.

* * *

><p>"Goodbye!" Molly said as she showed the last guests out of the door. "Thanks for coming!" Finally, the last person left. As she shut the door, almost instantly, Sherlock opened his.<p>

"At long last, they're gone!" Sherlock bellowed. He crashed onto the couch with an exasperated sigh. "A cat? Why would you say that I was a cat?"

"Well, you were making a racket! That was ridiculous Sherlock. You know, for someone who was trying to hide, you made an awful lot of noise. And you were eavesdropping on my conversation with Peter! Very rude."

"Oh, what else was there to do? I was bored. Speaking of which, what was that all about? _'so it's a date then?'_"

"Peter's a nice guy. Why not?"

"I don't know. His voice annoyed me. Sounded like he was up to something."

"Oh, please, Sherlock. I know you're a genius but _come on._What could he possibly be up to?"

Sherlock stood up and started pacing across the sitting room.

"I don't know."

"I think you're jealous." Molly squeaked.

Sherlock stopped pacing and looked at Molly sideways. "Jealous? Molly, why would I be jealous of Peter?" Sherlock said with a condescending tone.

"I don't know, maybe because…he's John's friend? How would I know?"

"You're being ridiculous." Sherlock stormed into his room and slammed the door behind him.

Molly sighed and fell onto the couch, finally relaxing for the first time all night.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Alright, thanks for reading. I have to write these at school during lunch so, if I miss a day, don't hate me. <strong>_

_**Hopefully I'll get chapter 7 in by tomorrow. Please review! xoxo**_


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